


Lay Down Your Arms

by GGMoonyCrisco



Series: Bootycall of Steel [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Awkward Romance, Banter, Danse is Exhausted, Danse is a Gentleman, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Exploration, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Good for her, Humor, I Humbly Propose This Ship, Insomnia, Panic Attacks, Piper is Too, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Blind Betrayal, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-27 15:34:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30124965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GGMoonyCrisco/pseuds/GGMoonyCrisco
Summary: Danse's long-neglected PTSD nets him a week of mandatory leave, much to his chagrin. With nowhere else to go, he heads to Diamond City in the faint hope Piper might have been serious about actually enjoying his company.Meanwhile, Piper's got some headaches of her own and Danse could be exactly the knight in shining armor she needs. (Metaphorically.)One week of R&R, awkward flirting, slow burns, and Danse and Piper figuring out what the hell they're doing. Eventual tasteful smut. Cute dates, Nat terrorizing a grown man, and great liberties taken with Diamond City's infrastructure.
Relationships: Paladin Danse/Piper Wright
Series: Bootycall of Steel [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2217015
Comments: 13
Kudos: 28





	1. Saturday

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 of what it turns out I was totally not joking about calling The Bootycall of Steel-verse, and a direct sequel to Stories From The Front. You'll probably want to catch up with that one first, as references to Danse and Piper's previous misadventures abound. 
> 
> This is a bit slower and more meandering than usual for me, but I hope you'll enjoy the awkward fumbling of these two huge dorks.

Danse opened his eyes, and they darted to the digital clock across the room. 0336. A sigh of grim resignation slid between his teeth. 

For what felt like the hundredth time that night, he sat up in his bed. If he’d slept at all, even in a short drift, he didn’t remember it. The painkillers had done nothing to stop the persistent, dull headache. His body dragged heavy, tense, every muscle wound up tight like a spring for no particular reason. The luxury of having his own quarters meant there were no witnesses to his hours of struggle, but lying alone in the dark and the quiet made him feel isolated, cold. Like he was the only one in the world still awake-- though obviously, that wasn’t true. 

Eventually his brain and body would stop fighting their own need for rest. One month of worsening insomnia and he still hadn’t reached that point.

Once more, he surrendered. He stood up and snatched his uniform, folded neatly atop his dresser. As he pulled the jumpsuit over his tank and boxers, he caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror. The bruised circles under his eyes and grayish pallor to his skin were only tricks of the dim light, he told himself. He didn’t look nearly as unkempt and miserable as he felt. His beard needed a trim, though. That could wait until daylight, when he better trusted his tired hands to keep steady. 

Like Danse, The Prydwen never truly slept. Several officers were on duty at all times, monitoring her status on the flight deck and prepared to issue orders if something came up. There was always a contingent of Knights on patrol, guarding the airship’s corridors. Several of them greeted the Paladin with salutes as he headed down the main deck to the engineering pit. 

His power armor was mounted in one of the workbenches, differentiated from the others by the two orange lines on the left wrist denoting his rank. He’d already repaired it after his latest field mission, but had spent the past few nights experimenting with the joint calibrations. This was the perfect time to do it; plenty of room to get in and out of the suit, test it, make adjustments and repeat, and all without getting in the way of the daytime pit crew. 

Besides, tinkering always relaxed him. All the anxious tension seemed to dissipate as he worked, channeled into the necessity of precision. Machines were soothingly concrete that way. Knowable, predictable, easy to learn and memorize and most importantly, to repair. 

If only the same was true of people. Machines made sense, but he was stuck with a disorderly human body, paradoxically both exhausted and warring against sleep.

“Little early for delicate hydraulics, isn’t it, Paladin?” 

The familiar voice brought him out of his trance-like maintenance. He glanced over his shoulder to see Proctor Ingram. She was surprisingly stealthy, deft at stepping quietly in the power armor frame she used as a mobility aid. That, or he’d been far more engaged in his work than he thought. 

“Good morning, Proctor. I hope I didn’t disturb you.” 

“I’m always awake this early,” she said. “As are you, apparently.” 

His brows quirked with ironic acknowledgement. “So it would seem.” 

Ingram set the bulky hand of her armor frame on her hip and cocked her head. “You doing all right, Paladin?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered immediately. 

“This is the fourth time this week you’ve been here before dawn.”

“I apologize if it’s a problem, ma’am.”

“It’s not a ‘problem.’ I don’t care if you use the pit. But make sure you’re getting enough rest.”

“With the gravity of our current objectives, I doubt there’s a soul on this ship getting enough rest.”

“Some more than others.” Ingram gave him a sympathetically knowing look. “Just a friendly observation, Paladin.” 

“I appreciate your concern.” Danse gave her a smile that he would have preferred to be more confident. Then he strategically changed the subject. “Is there anything I can do to lend you a hand, Proctor?” 

A suspicious glance meant Ingram saw right through him, but she quickly relented. “As a matter of fact, there is. You know your way around engineering better than half the scribes. If I send you to requisitions, could you check what they give me  _ before  _ I have to send the wrong damn parts back six times?” 

He chuckled. “Affirmative, ma’am.” 

“Great. I’ve got the list at my terminal. Grab that toolbox and follow me.” 

Ingram’s terminal was in a corner sectioned off by makeshift partitions. They created a small private space nearby her quarters, room for the proctor to work apart from the chaos of the rest of the pit. At current, her projects seemed to be the miscellaneous remnants of a small engine and a suit of power armor. 

Ingram crossed the space to her desk, tearing a slip of paper from a slightly grease-stained notepad and looking over it. “Let’s see, double-check this…”

Danse’s attention was drawn to the power armor, partially disassembled at the torso and lacking a helmet. There was a box of Abraxo cleaner and some rust-tinged rags sitting nearby. He didn’t put together why until he spotted the dark spatters on the armor frame and the serial number on the chest. BW-273KS. 

Sensible, to keep it back here. It would upset people to see Knight-Sergeant Bowen’s armor in the pit before the serial number was removed. Before they’d finished scrubbing out the frame. The fatal blow to the head would have seeped blood all over the hydraulics, the servos, the power conduits. All stained and sticky and red. 

One blow crushed his helmet, shattered his skull, turning him from a man to a suit of broken armor. One blow and his strong body collapsed, his big heart stopped, his clever brain that used to play chess with Danse in the mess hall splattered, smashed, flowed with the blood down into the frame, became nothing more than something to be fixed. Machines could be fixed. Armor could be fixed. But Bowen was too broken. Bowen was dead. Dead like Valdez. Whelan. Keane. Dawes. Worwick. Brach. Nothing more than broken parts and bloodstains.

Something clattered loudly against the floor. 

“Hey, Danse! Danse!”

He blinked. 

Ingram stood in front of him, grasping his shoulders, concern lacing her expression. Her lips were moving but he couldn’t hear her. The toolbox he’d been carrying lay on the floor, its contents scattered in a messy pile. His hands shook uncontrollably, and his skin was colorless, pale, and prickling. He opened his mouth to say something, but suddenly his voice didn’t work, either.

Human bodies were so disorderly that way. 

* * *

It passed quickly, at least. Might have passed quicker if he’d acquiesced to lying down. 

His task at the depot took roughly an hour, once he convinced-- begged and pleaded with Ingram to never mind, to allow him to get on with it. The tension had returned, a tight line from his aching head all the way down his back, like a rod hammered through his spine. Danse tried to ignore it, turning all his focus on aiding the overnight logistics crew.. It helped to act mechanical himself, stoically sorting through piles and naming the parts as they were gathered. 

He returned to The Prydwen with a crate, which Ingram checked over for accuracy. She hummed thoughtfully. “No circuit boards?” 

“They’re out, at present,” said Danse. “Hoping to acquire more in a future sweep.” 

“Damn. That’s going to hold me up. But it can’t be helped.” Ingram sighed. “Thank you, Paladin.”

“Of course, ma’am.” 

“And one more thing.” 

Danse’s heart sank when she handed him a slip of paper: an immediate referral to Knight-Captain Cade in the medbay. “Ma’am, I assure you--” 

“It’s not a suggestion.” Ingram gave him a sternly worried look. “You’re dismissed, Paladin.” 

It was embarrassing, but Danse understood that Ingram meant well. He would have written a referral for any soldier he witnessed making a scene like he had. It was a precautionary measure and nothing more, and so long as he held it together during his medical exam nothing would come of it. 

Besides, Knight-Captain Cade was already aware of Danse’s bouts of headaches and insomnia. He already knew they had no impact on his performance. 

It was past 0800 and the medbay was open, so Danse headed there with his referral to get it over with. This exam went much like the last one. Cade took his temperature, did a physical, took a blood sample, then quizzed him about his recent health. 

“How long has this been going on?” asked Cade.

“I’m uncertain. I’ve lost track.” 

“That long?” 

“No. That’s not what I mean.” Danse took a moment to consider his answer. “I’ve grown accustomed to it by now. I’m used to functioning like this in the field.” 

Cade also took a moment to consider it. “Let me rephrase. When was the last time you got a full night’s sleep, Paladin?” 

“Defined as?” 

“Seven hours with minimal unrest.” 

Danse realized with a pang that he remembered quite clearly. “A month.” 

He did not like the little sound Cade made in the back of his throat. Cade said little else, scribbling on his notepad for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “Go get some rest, Paladin.”

“Thank you, Knight-Captain.” 

“I recommend you stay off-duty today.” 

“Noted.” 

“Paladin,” said Cade, a little more sternly. “I can’t order you to take the day off, but I really do insist.” 

“If at all feasible I will,” said Danse, already knowing it wasn’t and he would not. 

By the time he departed the medbay, the rest of The Prydwen had come alive and there were a hundred more pressing concerns afoot than Danse’s alleged problems. He ate a quick breakfast in the mess and picked up his rations for lunch. The docket was full today. First off, a series of debriefs with the salvage teams for most of the morning. Then Danse was supervising a sweep-and-retrieve with a group of Initiates. An easy mission, mostly ensuring that the soon-to-be-promoted were worth promoting. The location was close enough that they’d travel on foot, and if all went to plan they’d return sometime in the early evening. A busy day, and perhaps exertive enough that he’d pass out from sheer exhaustion when laid down tonight. 

He had no time to rest. No time to stay off-duty. And he found himself rushing to get to work, just in case someone wanted to argue with him about it. 

* * *

Danse paid only half-attention to the debriefs, his mind anxiously replaying the events of the morning. He found himself scanning the doorways as though Cade or Ingram might show up and ask what he was doing. “My duty,” he’d decided he would answer, and was so ready to say it boldly that he was almost disappointed when the opportunity didn’t come. 

It was a tremendous relief to depart for the sweep-and-retrieve. On a mission, he had no time for other concerns. He had to be perfectly in the moment, honed instincts ready to fight and protect his brothers and sisters if the need arose. 

The mission went smoothly and as the sunset streaked the sky shades of orange and pink, Danse had almost entirely forgotten about the morning. After the Initiates were dismissed, he made his way to the showers. Two minutes to wet, lather, and rinse. He dried off and slipped back into his uniform for the vertibird shuttle to The Prydwen. He parked his armor in the pit and proceeded to the mess for dinner before retreating to his quarters. 

Promisingly, he found himself quite tired (then again he was always tired.) He would trim up his beard, listen to a holotape to relax, and perhaps he’d actually rest easy tonight. 

His plans were interrupted by a polite knock on the door. 

“Good evening, Paladin,” said the scribe outside with a salute. “Elder Maxson wants to see you in his quarters.”

_ God damn it.  _

It wasn’t necessarily bad news. It wasn’t good, either. Elder Maxson did nearly all of his daily business from the command deck. He only arranged meetings behind closed doors in the case of something very classified and very serious. Or very personal. 

“I meant to speak with you earlier in the day, Paladin, but it seems you were out.” Maxson had offered him a seat at the table, but Danse declined and stood resolutely near the door at perfect attention. 

“I was supervising the Initiates from Group B on a training mission, sir.” 

“I see,” said Maxson. “Quite strenuous. Especially when you were meant to be resting today.” 

Danse fell silent. He tensed as he watched the elder pace back and forth along the edge of the table. 

The look Maxson gave him was not angry or stern, but thoughtful. “Knight-Captain Cade informed me that you’ve been having trouble sleeping.” 

“It’s not an infrequent problem, sir. I’ve adapted to it after all this time.” 

“Proctor Ingram and several of her engineers have also expressed some concern.” 

“I appreciate that,” said Danse. “But I know when I’m unwell. I know when there’s something worth being concerned about.” 

“And  _ I _ know you’re too stubborn to ever admit as much,” said Maxson. “I heard about the incident this morning.” 

Danse tightened his jaw, swallowing back a swell of humiliation. Of course the elder heard that his best officer had cracked under pressure. Broken, however briefly, over a bloodstain on an armor frame. Of course he’d wanted to speak privately about it, so as not to inform all of the Brotherhood that the respected Paladin Danse was so pathetically weak. 

But the elder didn’t sound annoyed, or judgemental. He let out a slow breath, then looked at Danse with sympathy in his eyes. “The loss of Knight-Sergeant Bowen and his squad was a tremendous blow to the Brotherhood. I understand that you were close with him.” A trace of a smile rose on his lips. “I recall watching the two of you play chess back at the Citadel when I was a boy.”

Danse swallowed hard. “Yes. Our matches could get rather heated.”

“I remember. A rivalry for the ages.” Maxson made a soft, somber chuckle. “I’m sorry for his death, Paladin, and I’m sorry it’s impacted you so much.”

He resisted the urge to close his eyes. There was something particularly vulnerable in hearing that from Arthur. “Thank you, sir.” 

“Though such loss is inevitable in war, there’s no shame in acknowledging the pain and grief it causes us.” The elder shook his head. “It is not a weakness. It does not make us less of soldiers, or less of men. We are all human, and that capacity for feeling is part of the beauty of our species. There’s no shame in acknowledging that pain and grief can wound us as gravely as any weapon.” 

They stood there a few moments, the elder’s words seeming to resonate through the ensuing silence. 

At last, Maxson sighed. “Knight-Captain Cade recommends you seek treatment for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.” 

It wasn’t a surprise. But not welcome news, either. “Sir, with all due respect to the Knight-Captain, this isn’t the time,” said Danse. “We are on the cusp of war with the Institute. Every soldier is giving their best to ensure our victory. I would accept no less from them, and I certainly won’t accept it for myself.”

“You cannot give me your best if you are not operating at its level.” 

“I am, sir. My performance-” 

“Your performance is exemplary, Paladin, as usual. But for how much longer? Sending you into the field like this is no less foolish than sending you with a crippled limb. It’s only a matter of time before this condition becomes a liability that gets you, or one of your brothers or sisters killed.” 

Maxson looked at him plaintively. “You are one of my best men, Danse, and I know you know that. I need you to be present and whole in body, heart, and mind. Understand you are not being punished, and I’m doing this for your own good. For the good of the Brotherhood.” 

Danse’s mouth went slightly dry. He lowered his head and brought his fist to his chest in a salute. “I understand, sir.” 

“Good,” said Maxson. 

Then Danse waited, like a condemned prisoner dreading his sentence. In what form would it come? “Medical probation?” “Psych eval?” “Light duty?” 

“I order you to take a week of leave.” 

The paladin somehow stopped his jaw from dropping. “A  _ week _ ?” 

“Affirmative. Starting tomorrow, you are temporarily relieved of your obligations and extended special clearance for one week of non-duty leave.” 

His head was spinning so fast could barely formulate his protest. “Elder Maxson, a week is too long.”

“The standard leave is actually  _ two  _ weeks,” Maxson replied. “Which I assumed you would know, until I checked the records and found you haven’t taken any in five years.” 

“I don’t have time for leave, sir. We’re closing in on our goal of breaching the Institute. We have important work to accomplish.” 

“And there are hundreds of capable people accomplishing that work as we speak.” Maxson smiled wryly. “The Brotherhood will not fall apart in your absence, Danse. I promise, I will keep everything running smoothly until you return.” 

“Of course. I have no doubt of that, sir, but--” 

“One week,” said Maxson again. “Next Sunday at 1800, you will report back to Knight-Captain Cade to be cleared for a return to your duties. Do you understand, Paladin?” 

Danse scrambled to think of a better argument, but already knew the cause was lost. “I understand, sir.” 

“Very good.” Maxson gestured towards the deck. “I’ve arranged a vertibird to transport you wherever in the Commonwealth you wish to go. You will meet it on the flight deck at 0700 tomorrow.”

And there went his immediate plan to simply hide in his quarters for the week. “Yes, sir.” 

“Enjoy your leave, Paladin.” Maxson smirked. “And that is an order.” 


	2. Sunday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danse's backup plan is thwarted, and he heads to Diamond City to do battle with despair and an 11-year-old.

Danse sat in the rear seat of the vertibird, gazing out the open hatch at the side, watching the Commonwealth rush by below, and most assuredly  _ not  _ pouting.

He’d slept poorly if at all and awoke too early, as usual. At least today it gave him time to shave and pack his bag. There wasn’t much he needed: his rarely-used civilian clothes, his hygiene kit, a few books he hadn’t gotten around to reading. He dressed in a pair of jeans and a faded green T-shirt. He topped it off with a bomber jacket and tried not to dwell on how hideously naked he felt without his uniform. His holotags were tucked securely beneath the T-shirt. They could suspend him from his duties all they liked, but they would literally have to tear his holotags off his cold, dead body. 

He also packed his rifle, a wealth of spare fusion cells, and his combat-armor chestplate. Leave or no, he would not be caught unprepared in case of combat. They could take the Paladin out of the Brotherhood, but they couldn’t take the Brotherhood out of the Paladin.

Just before his scheduled departure, he tried to fetch his power armor from the pit. To his dismay, Ingram was waiting for him. “Sorry, Paladin. I’ve got some upgrades to do on your T-60.” 

_ Oh, God, no. _ “I’ve already installed all the standard upgrades myself, and I--” 

“You won’t need it.” 

“Yes, I will. If something comes up--” 

“It won’t.” 

“Proctor, please.” His voice stayed even, though his eyes begged her. “I insist--” 

“Elder’s orders, Paladin.” Ingram smiled at him in a sly and knowing matter. “See you next week.” 

Danse wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or insulted by his superiors teaming up against him. Really, he was trying very hard not to be insulted in general. 

He knew on an objective level that he shouldn’t be. He  _ had  _ been struggling in the weeks since the Rogersbrook incident. The headaches, the insomnia, the nightmares that interrupted what little sleep he got; all were no doubt signs of stress and all were getting worse. Elder Maxson was right. He had to be wholly present in his duties and if Cade thought some time off would be beneficial, then he ought to take it. Danse would have insisted any soldier under his command do the same. It was grace, not punishment. 

Too bad it felt like punishment.

It was preposterous to claim Danse hadn’t taken any leave in the past five years. He remembered plenty of times he had a day off. Well… perhaps not an entire day, specifically sanctioned for the purpose. But there had been uneventful days. Hours spent in leisure in his quarters, tinkering or reading a book or listening to music via radio or holotape. Adding up all that time was almost certainly equivalent to two weeks. In five years. Perhaps a little less than that. Probably. 

The point was, he didn’t need leave. Why would he want it, anyway? Taking leave removed him from the only things he cared about. He had no friends or family to visit, no interests or obligations whatsoever outside the Brotherhood. It wasn’t like he had anywhere to go, or anything to do, or anyone to go with. Unlike when Cutler… 

Danse smiled faintly at the memory. That’s right. The last time he’d taken leave was back when Cutler was alive. 

He and his best friend always took their yearly allotment together, headed out for adventure and excitement and just as frequently, trouble. Megaton one year, then a road trip up through Canterbury Commons and the Republic of Dave, then to Oasis to see the tree. They’d gone south another time, hitched a ride on a boat and cruised the islands on the coast. 

The last time, five years ago, they made their grand return to Rivet City. And what a reunion tour that had been. They got irresponsibly drunk, Danse lost his shirt in a card game, Cutler came very close to being arrested. They had to scramble and improvise and call in a few old favors not to show back up at the Citadel looking utterly disgraceful. 

That’s what leave used to mean for him. Carefree, foolish, impulsive misadventures. Immature, yes, stupid, absolutely, but they were fun because he was with Cutler. 

And without him… 

He could have reached out to Knight Herrera, but Nate was currently out of the Commonwealth. He’d traveled far up north for some sort of urgent business and gave no estimation when he’d be back. Truly a shame. Danse’s protege was the closest thing he had to a friend anymore and he’d no doubt have been pleased for some non-duty quality time.

And Danse had other friends within the Brotherhood, but none who’d accompany a Paladin on such escapades. Cutler knew him well enough not to make their differing ranks a problem, and Nate wouldn’t have cared, but few others wanted to waste their leisure time stuck with a senior officer. And there was no appeal in going alone. 

So of course he stopped taking leave altogether. Why disappoint himself? Why take time to remember how things used to be? Why purposely schedule his own loneliness and misery?

It truly sounded pathetic when he thought about it that way. 

But here he was, evicted from The Prydwen for a week sans power armor, given strict orders for some R&R in whatever form that might take. He probably ought to come up with some ideas, but it would be easier when he had somewhere quiet to think and plan. When the vertibird reached his chosen destination, he would sit down and do just that. 

“Paladin, we’re descending now,” called the lancer from the front seat. 

“Thank you, Lancer.” Danse grasped the handle overhead, remaining seated as the vertibird came in for a landing. It touched down on the helipad with a thump, then he stood and prepared to disembark. 

A voice came from the tarmac, shouting to be heard over the slowing propellers. “Paladin Danse!” 

Danse stepped down from the vertibird and saluted the familiar figure. “Good morning, Scribe Haylen.” 

“Good to see you, sir.” Haylen saluted too, with a slightly odd look on her face, a mixture between sympathy and trepidation. 

He did not like that expression at all. “You as well, Haylen. Is something the matter?” 

“Sorry, sir. Elder Maxson radioed ahead.” 

“What?” 

“He said you’re on leave. We’re not to allow you into the police station, or to discuss any business with you.” 

“That’s absurd. Leave doesn’t mean--” 

“It means ‘time off,’ sir. Excused from duty. Not coming to Cambridge to work here instead.” Haylen folded her arms. “Nice try, though.” 

Okay.  _ Now  _ he was insulted. His brows furrowed in a scowl. “This is absolutely ridiculous--” 

Haylen smiled knowingly. “As ridiculous as the elder enforcing your leave, sir?”

“I am a grown man and I can take care of myself.” 

“Then you should take time off for once.” Haylen reached up and patted him on the shoulder. “God knows you work yourself harder than you’d ever work any of us.”

A dizzying swell of frustration and annoyance seized him. It was almost enough to cover up the thin but growing sense of despair. “That’s not the point.” 

“Then what is the point, sir?” 

He exhaled sharply and stepped away, leading Haylen off to the side where they wouldn’t be overheard by the vertibird crew. It also took that time for him to realize he had no decent arguments beyond “This isn’t that simple.” 

Haylen raised an eyebrow. “I believe it is that simple, sir.”

“I can’t step away from the Brotherhood altogether for an entire week.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because,” his voice lowered into a weary rumble, “I have _nowhere_ _else to go_ , Haylen.”

Sympathy briefly worried Haylen’s blue eyes. “You and I both know that’s not true, sir. We’ve been here longer than the whole rest of the Brotherhood, and we’ve seen dozens of settlements. Pick any one you like and see what they’ve got for accommodations.”

“I was even denied the dignity of bringing my power armor,” he replied. “I hardly think it restful to head out into the wasteland, unprotected and at the mercy of whatever settlement will have me.”

“Then if you don’t feel like roughing it, you could always go to Diamond City.” 

“Diamond City,” he repeated, like a revelation. As though something had purposely been blocking out the idea until just now. 

“Sure. That’s what I’d do,” said Haylen. “Head to the big city and live it up in luxury for a week.” 

It was an obvious solution that made perfect sense. Diamond City was a metropolitan location, which meant a minimum of danger and a minimum of needing to watch his back. There was a bustling market, things to see and do, food to eat and fresh water to drink, accommodations as comfortable as one could expect. If he stayed in town, then being without his power armor wouldn’t even factor into things. 

So why did it feel like the most daunting thing in the world to consider?

_ Because Diamond City is where…  _

He had the sudden flash of a clever grin. Green eyes. Dark hair, curled pretty around her face and her throat. A warm hand cupping his beard. A soft body in his arms.

_ Perhaps the next time I’m near Diamond City,  _ his own voice taunted him,  _ we could-- schedule an interview. _

He had to be kidding. Rogersbrook was… it was a fluke, and nothing more. One impulsive night that meant nothing to her, even if it meant so much to him. So much he couldn’t keep thinking about it, and he’d had to seal everything away in his head and forcibly forget before the distraction got in the way of his duty. 

But here they were again. All those vulnerable feelings. Tenderness, affection, anticipation, longing. All the silly little thoughts.  _ She’s so kind. She’s so soft. The way she keeps looking at me. I feel so good. More, please. I haven’t slept like this in years. I want her. I want this.  _ And the memories, God, the memories. Every touch, every kiss, every sensation. They were all running circles around his sense and better judgment, having the audacity to remind him they existed.

What would happen if he did go back to Diamond City? Was it sensible to consider? Naive to hope? Or indecent to even imagine that Piper... 

Might she like to see him again?

At worst, Diamond City would have beds and civilization and he could find  _ something  _ to do for a week. And at best, maybe… 

_ At ease, soldier.  _

“Very well,” he said, after what felt like an eternity of inner debate. “I suppose I’ll go to Diamond City.”

“Good idea, sir.” Though it seemed like his stormy thoughts should be plainly obvious on his face, Haylen didn’t notice anything amiss. “If you get bored, pick me up some wine and a new hairbrush, pretty please.”

“Wine and a hairbrush. Noted.” Actually, that gave him a productive idea. “You should bring me the requisition logs from inside, Haylen, and while I’m in town I’ll attempt to acquire any necessary--” 

“Oh my God,” she groaned. “Never mind. Now get back on that vertibird before I go for my tranqs.” 

* * *

The Brotherhood of Steel had been in the Commonwealth for five months now, and Danse’s recon squad eleven months before that. In the near year and a half he’d been here, Danse had not visited Diamond City more than a handful of times. He’d come once or twice alongside Knight Herrera. Recon Squad Gladius once scouted the city as well, drawing quite a bit of attention with their uniforms and power armor. Otherwise, he didn’t intentionally steer clear. He simply never felt like he belonged there. Not as a matter of arrogance, but because it had been so long since he lived in a city, so long since his civilian life. Simulating it was like wearing a jacket he’d long outgrown. 

The proverbial sleeves of that jacket tugged at his shoulders as he entered the Great Green Jewel herself. The bustling sights of the city weren’t quite enough to drown out the thrum of the vertibird outside the walls, leaving him behind. Now he was well and truly stranded, under strict orders not to contact the rest of the Brotherhood for one full week. He’d been provided the standard field prep of a distress beacon and two signal grenades, but he wouldn’t be touching those unless there was a dire, life-threatening emergency. 

(Desperately not wanting to be on leave was not an emergency, no matter how he tried to spin it in his head.) 

He made his way into the marketplace, where his eyes were immediately drawn to the building on the left. The ornate neon sign read “Publick Occurrences”-- the offices of Piper’s newspaper. He was quite vexed how his guts suddenly tied up in knots and how his feet automatically steered him away from it. 

_ I should see if Nate has returned _ , he mentally used as an excuse.  _ His house is just over this way. Perhaps he’s come home.  _

He had not. Danse’s itinerant protege certainly found many causes with which to busy himself. Were he not so efficient at serving the Brotherhood when he found the time, Danse might disapprove of it more. In any case, he was not present. There went any hope of finding an ally in town. 

Save one. 

For the love of God, why did his chest tighten so much at the mere thought of her? Piper was-- an acquaintance of his. She was a good-natured and friendly woman. She’d told him she’d welcome a visit. What was the worst that could happen if he stopped by to say hello?

(She might get angry. Remind him he was every inch the awkward lummox he always suspected. She might laugh at him for chasing her down here like a desperate fool. For thinking she could possibly ever want to see him again.)

No. No, actually, that was ridiculous. Danse was a Paladin of the Brotherhood of Steel. A soldier who stared down death on a daily basis, fearlessly dueling super mutants and deathclaws and whatever else the wasteland threw at him. He would not be frightened by imaginary nonsense scenarios of mockery from a woman who’d shown no such potential for cruelty. 

Resolutely, he headed back to Publick Occurrences. 

In front of the office, a girl in an oversized jacket stood on a milk crate selling copies of the paper. Nat Wright, Piper’s younger sister. There was a strong resemblance. Nat’s hair was shorter and lighter, deep brown to Piper’s warm black, but the sisters shared bright green eyes, loud voices, and utterly fearless confidence.

Displayed prominently when the girl pointed at him and caught his eyeline. “Hey, mister!” Nat shouted. “Are Diamond City guards being cheated out of their overtime pay?” 

The question caught him entirely flatfooted. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t know the circumstances of the-”

“Read all about it!” She tapped the stack of papers under her arm. “Three caps for the Publick! Keep yourself informed!”

Oh. It was a sales pitch. Danse unthinkingly reached into his jacket pocket for a trio of caps. The girl was certainly a commanding saleswoman. 

“Here you are.” Nat traded him for the newspaper and tucked the caps into her messenger bag. “Thank you for supporting the news.” 

“You’re welcome.” Danse only briefly glanced at the paper, then stared at the building behind Nat as though expecting the doors to open and Piper to emerge at any moment.

“I  _ said _ , ‘thank you for supporting the news.”

He glanced down at the girl. “Hm?”

“Move it, mister.” Nat made a dismissive motion with her hand. “You’re blockin’ my sales.”

“Oh.” Danse supposed he had been standing there an uncomfortably long time. “My apologies. If I may ask a question…”

“Yeah?” 

“Where is-- where could I find some accommodations?”

“Dugout Inn.” She pointed down the street. “Tell ‘em the Publick sent you.”

“Excellent. Thank you.” He exhaled. “Is your sister home, by any chance?”

Nat pressed her lips together warily. “Who’s asking?” 

_ The man who slept with her a month ago _ was Danse’s immediate thought, but that was an inappropriate response to an 11-year-old. “I- suppose you could say I’m an… acquaintance of hers.” 

For some reason, that answer didn’t go over well. “Sure you are.” Nat folded her arms. “Just like all the other pissed-off readers who come creeping around to complain at her. So what’s your problem, buddy? Don’t like the facts? Can’t handle a spicy dose of reality? Or does reading about the Institute burst your comfy little bubble of ignorance?” 

His eyebrows rose. “Oh, no. It’s nothing like that.” 

“Then what do you want with my sister?” 

A question Danse truly had no idea how to answer. 

He settled for the simplest, most basic form of the truth. “I happened to be in town and wanted to say hello.” 

“Well, I’ll tell her. Now move along, pal. I’ve got papers to sell.” 

The girl’s defensive behavior gave Danse the impression that Piper was not home. He knew better than to pry any further, certainly not wanting to give the impression he was “creeping around.” He’d just have to see if Piper returned later on. 

And it was not at all that he’d just been humbled by a child. Certainly not.

Inside the Dugout Inn, two identical men behind the bar argued in some Slavic language. They stopped long enough for Danse to pay for a week’s stay, and resumed arguing as soon as the caps were exchanged. Danse headed down the hall to room #2, a small, quiet, well-insulated room with a bed, a dresser, and a sitting area with a table and chairs. He closed the door, set his pack on the floor, then sank down on the bed, staring at the wall. 

Here he was. On leave. Surely, the all-important rest and relaxation would be kicking in any time now. 

Now what? 

He wouldn’t go slinking back to Piper’s. He did have more pride than to literally wait around her house like a lost puppy. (Nor did he trust Nat would not come back at him with a firearm, next time.) Besides, his leave was in no way her problem, and he did not need Piper to entertain him. He could find some other way to occupy himself. 

Danse unpacked his bag, ensuring the dresser was clean before he slipped his change of clothes and hygiene kit into the drawers. He stacked his books and his copy of the newspaper on top. Ah, now there was an idea. He once again interrupted the Slavic argument at the bar to order some coffee and a sandwich. One of the brothers brought it to his room ten minutes later, and Danse settled in comfortably in the sitting area to read. 

The feature article in the newspaper was a scathing investigation where anonymous Diamond City guards implied pressure to work long hours without compensation. Piper delved into florid detail about the high stress and frequent exhaustion that came with the job, and emphatically played up the heroism of the brave men. He could practically hear her voice sneering in the segment where she asked the mayor’s office for a statement, and received only “no comment.” He could also identify her diction in the horoscopes, the advice column, and the classifieds, where the sole advertisement asked experienced scavengers to inquire with the paper. 

Next he moved on to an old history volume he’d found on some mission or another. All scavenged books were turned in for appraisal and potentially surrendered for archival, but if they were deemed superfluous or meritless the finder had first claim to keep them. Over the years Danse had acquired a small collection of his own. He rarely had the time or the inclination to read them on The Prydwen, so this was as good a chance as any. 

It was a pleasant way to while away a few hours. Or the entire rest of the day, it turned out. By the time Danse closed his third and final book, it was well after dark. 

He went to the bar, because it was there, and ordered a beer, because they had it. He sat on a sofa and watched the customers lingering in the lounge. The last time he’d been on leave, he’d been one of the men sitting at the bar, socializing with the innkeeper, playing cards, sharing stories, trading off drinks, and carrying on long into the night. It had been a welcome break from the harried, high-stress, regimented life of a soldier, and Cutler had been by his side.

Now he was here in the corner, nursing a watered-down beer in total silence. Isolated. Tired. Alone.

Finishing his lone drink, he contemplated taking a walk around the city for some fresh air, a chance to clear those dour thoughts from his mind. But his feet automatically brought him back to his room, where he dressed down and laid on the mattress to pretend like he would sleep at all tonight.

He wished he was back on The Prydwen. At least with the clock in his quarters he could accurately gauge how long he struggled before a combination of exhaustion and despair finally dragged him under. 

He faintly felt thin fingers touching the nape of his neck, just as he drifted off. But it must have been a dream. 


	3. Monday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Piper's got some problems that a Paladin might be able to help with. What's the worst that could happen?

0549.  
  


Danse woke up groggy, which meant he’d at least dozed a little. Would have been nice if his body recognized he was allowed to sleep in, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. 

Oddly, he felt a little better about the situation than he had last night. A certain melancholy came with dark nights in a strange place, a feeling of alienation and unease that lent itself to dire thoughts. In the light of the morning with the sun rising and a sense of life returning to the world, that ill feeling was gone. As Danse ate breakfast in the common, he nurtured a tentative spark of hope for his first full day in Diamond City. 

If nothing else, the shops would open soon and he could stand to see something besides the walls of his room. (And maybe, just maybe, that might include a friendly face.)

Meandering crowds, humming voices, merchants hawking their wares, the aroma of dirt and sweat… He hadn’t been around the ambience of a marketplace since his own merchant days, when he was younger and scrappier, manning his humble junk stand in Rivet City. Danse didn’t miss that life at all, but the memories made him a bit nostalgic. 

The market took up a few pleasant hours. He entertained himself watching other customers, guessing who among them were natives and who were tourists like him. He shopped, picking out parts for his rifle, a new adjustable wrench, fresh clothes. He listened to a man loudly regaling passers-by about the majestic sport of baseball (which sounded suspect, given what little he knew about it, but the man sounded so passionate he didn’t have the heart to correct him.) 

In a second pass at the surplus shop, he spotted a prize tucked back on the shelves: a military-grade circuit board. The robot manning the shop had severely undervalued it, as 20 caps was a steal for such useful salvage. Danse tucked it gently into his pack and anticipated presenting it to Proctor Ingram. It was precisely what she needed for her projects and would make a fine goodwill gift, ensuring she had no lingering doubts and he had no hard feelings. 

(He could already hear Haylen teasing him for acquiring Brotherhood supplies on leave. To preemptively prod her back, he purchased the hairbrush and a bottle of wine for her. See what she had to say about _that_.) 

It was mid-morning then, and Danse thought to secure the circuit board and other purchases in his room. He was headed to do so when he overheard voices from an alley nearby. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” 

“What’s there to kid about? We had a deal, and I held up my end.” 

“The hell you did!” He’d know that grumbling woman’s voice anywhere. It was Piper. 

Danse went rigid, he recognized, the same cold panic as if a battle had suddenly broken out around him. Shaking it off, he maneuvered where he could look around the corner and see what was going on. 

In the alley, Piper was confronting a middle-aged man. His clothing and equipment identified him as a wasteland scavenger of some experience. Piper’s clothes were dusty and her hair sweaty and unkempt, suggesting they’d just returned from an exertive excursion. Her clenched fists, high-drawn shoulders, and barely contained volume concerned him that there might be a fight brewing, but the scavver looked completely and utterly unthreatened.

“That’s it, then? You’re walking?” Piper snapped. “Just what the hell did I pay you for?”

“You asked for salvage at the Bugle building, and I took you there.” 

“I didn’t want to go tour the damn thing. I needed to get inside!”

“Well, you didn’t say nothin’ about no ferals,” said the scavver. “And you didn’t shell out enough for hazard pay.” 

“ _Hazard pay_?” Piper seethed. “You’re a scavver! The whole damn Commonwealth is a hazard!” 

“You begged and pleaded for a bargain, Miss Wright, but you get what you pay for. And you did _not_ pay me to clean up ghouls.”

“Because I can’t _afford_ it, Ted.” 

“Then I believe our business is concluded.” 

Piper was nearly white-faced. Desperation seeped into her voice. “Please-- Ted. I’ve gotta get into that building.”

“You want my expertise? Then you pay my price. End of story.” With a smirk, the scavver turned and left her speechless in the street. 

Not speechless for long, though. “Y-you know what? Good!” She yelled after him. “I wouldn’t pay a crap scavver like you another cap if I had one, you toothless, money-grubbing con-artist!” 

She walked backwards and turned as she rounded the corner, the better to keep shouting. “‘Lucky Ted’ my ass! Everybody in the Commonwealth is gonna hear what a scam you are, you lousy, slimy, greedy son of a--”

She collided face-first into Danse’s chest. 

“Ah! Sorry-” Catching herself, she looked up and her green eyes lit with recognition. 

Danse had wondered how Piper would respond to seeing him. (He had no idea how to feel about it himself, so it was easier to focus on her.) In the copious thinking time insomnia gave him, his anxious imagination came up with a wide range of possible reactions she might have. 

Screaming had not been one of them. 

It was a brief shriek, half-startled and half… something else, silenced when Piper clamped her hands over her mouth. An entire gamut of emotions passed over her expression, and then she choked out a humorously loud “Danse!” between her fingers. 

Well, that was… suboptimal. “Hello, Piper,” he said calmly.

“Oh my God. Wow.” She broke down into nervous laughter, shuffling on her feet and putting a hand to her chest as though to calm her heart. “Sorry about that. I just- did not expect to _literally_ run into you here.”

“Clearly.” Danse frowned. “Are you all right? Was that man bothering you?” 

“Only on a fundamental level. Don’t worry about him. I-” She gave Danse a once-over, as though trying to confirm that it was really him. “Didn’t know you were gonna be in town.” 

“Neither did I,” he admitted. “It was short notice. I arrived yesterday.” 

“Look at you, all dressed down civilian chic.” She cracked a smile and gestured to his plainclothes. “Special occasion?” 

“I’m on leave,” he said, in a tone that expressed exactly how he felt about it.

“Oh.” She clearly didn’t know what to make of it. “That’s… good?”

How did he get into the complexities of the situation without sounding mopey or miserable? Granted, he _was_ , but the last thing he wanted was to be pitied for it.

“I… was encouraged by my superiors to make use of the time allotted to me.” There. True, and far less pathetic. “I decided Diamond City would be a suitable place to stay. It’s relatively peaceful, with a wealth of accommodations and amenities.” 

“They don’t call it the Great Green Jewel for nothing.”

“Indeed. With a week of leave to burn, I thought I’d like to see it.” His honesty pushed on him, urging him to expel the rest of the fact sitting on his tongue. “I thought I’d like to see you.” 

“O-oh.” Piper’s eyes fluttered slightly. A rosy flush settled across her face, accentuating her freckles. “You don’t say?” 

Danse hoped the heat in his own face wasn’t as noticeable. “I-- don’t want to impose, of course. If you have other things to do, I understand.”

“Oh, I’m not busy,” she said quickly. “In fact my schedule just opened _wide_ up. You need somewhere to stay, or just...?”

“I’m at the Dugout Inn, thank you.” He would never dream of foisting himself upon her home like that. “But-- well. I’ve been excused for a week, and I have no social contacts outside the Brotherhood. If you’d perhaps care to… accept my company--”

Thankfully, she didn’t need it spelled out further. “Say no more. I’d be happy to hang out while you’re in town.” 

“If you’re certain…” 

“C’mon, how are you supposed to see the big city without a local tour guide?” Piper grinned. “I’ll show you all the sights, give you all the insider info. The full VIP experience.” 

“I’d like that.” He smiled a bit sheepishly. “I’d actually be quite grateful.” 

“Then Piper’s at your service.” She shot him a coy little smile and took him by the arm. “Welcome to Diamond City, big guy.” 

He wasn’t sure if she meant any of that suggestively. He also wasn’t sure if his answer would have changed. 

Piper was delighted that he hadn’t eaten lunch yet. She insisted on dragging him to a stand beneath the reactor in the center of town. There, a Protectron in a chef’s toque stirred a pot and served up bowls of thick razorgrain noodles swimming in a salty and flavorful broth. The robot spoke, suspiciously, in repetitive Chinese. 

“Japanese,” Piper corrected when he asked. “Takahashi doesn’t say much, but he’s a Diamond City celebrity. And the noodles? To die for.”

“How on earth does a robot run a business without human assistance?” Danse fretfully picked at his bowl with his chopsticks. “Does it follow food safety precautions? Can it even _taste_?”

“Shhh. You’ll ruin the mystique.”

Dubious as the prospect of a robot chef was, the noodles were quite tasty. As he ate, Piper relayed the background of her argument with the scavver.

“Twenty years of experience, ‘best in the Commonwealth.’ ‘It’ll be simple. We’ll be in and out in no time.’” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “Then the minute Lucky Ted spots a feral in the lobby, he chickens out.”

“Perhaps his ‘luck’ comes from cowardice,” Danse said distastefully. “Any decent scavver could handle one feral ghoul.” 

“Well, to be fair, there were more than one,” she admitted.

“How many?” 

“Several.” 

“That’s all?” 

“Dozen.” Piper muttered. “Several dozen.”

“I... see.” 

“Some little pack wandered in from somewhere, I guess. It shouldn’t have been a big deal. And it sure wasn’t worth the 200 caps he wanted to take them out.” She scoffed. “You’d think I asked him to sneak me into a deathclaw hive.” 

“Why hire an unscrupulous man like that to begin with?” asked Danse. “Certainly Knight Herrera would accompany you for free.” 

“So would Nick. And I’d rather have either of them any day of the week, but they’re both out of town doing who-knows what.” Piper sighed. “I can’t exactly wait for them to get back.” 

“Why not?” 

Her lip curled irritably. She sat up in her stool and looked over both shoulders, as though checking to see that nobody was listening too closely. Then she leaned in to speak under her breath. “That scumbag excuse for a mayor took offense to a little story I wrote. Called it a ‘hit piece’ full of lies. And suddenly, just _suddenly_ , I’m slapped with a bunch of city fines. ‘Back taxes’ they apparently ‘forgot’ to charge me.” 

Danse’s eyes widened. “That is exceptionally unethical.” 

“Yeah, what else is new? McDonough thinks ‘ethical’ is when you sort the As in front of the Bs and Cs.” 

“Did you refuse?” 

“How am I supposed to refuse? The fines are bullshit, but if I don’t pay I’m handing him an excuse to throw Nat and I out in the cold.” Piper scowled, taking out her frustration on the remnants of her bowl. “I had enough caps to cover it this time, but let’s just say the budget’s looking pretty grim. Otherwise, I’d sure as hell be paying a better scavver than Lucky Ted.” 

“I see.” Danse frowned deeply. “Perhaps someone should have a talk with this Mayor McDonough.” 

“Oh, jeez.” Piper winced. “Perhaps they shouldn’t.” 

“Charging you punitive fines for personal quarrels is blatant corruption, and an outrageous failure of his vow as a public servant. Someone should give him a stern reminder of that.”

“That’s... sweet of you, but please, don’t. I’m already on the naughty list, and on his last nerve.” She sighed. “And I’d hate to see you spend your week off in the lockup for making the slimy little wuss feel ‘threatened.’” 

“If you insist,” said Danse. “But it’s not right.” 

“No, it isn’t. But I’ll manage.” She set down her chopsticks, indicating she was finished. “Tightening the belt is a time-honored Wright family tradition. And next edition, that rat bastard McDonough’s gonna learn the meaning of ‘hit-piece.’”

Danse almost pointed out that idea would start this vicious cycle all over again, but concluded that she was hyperbolizing. Or so he hoped.

Piper reached into her pocket for some caps, but Danse insisted on footing the bill. “You just alluded to being short on funds,” he said. “Besides, I have plenty. I don’t get many opportunities to spend my salary.”

“Gosh, thanks.” Piper pulled out her caps anyway. “I’m just gonna-- I gotta order another bowl for Nat. If she finds out I stiffed her on Power Noodles she’ll be pissed.” 

“I’ll buy that one too.”

“You don’t have to.” 

“I won’t allow a child to starve on my watch.”

“She’s not-” Piper looked aghast. “We’re not that-” 

“That was a joke,” he informed her.

“Oh. Sorry. Just the… your voice doesn’t… Anyway…” 

After ordering another helping of noodles, Piper drummed her fingers idly on the counter and waited for the robot to serve it up. “So, you got any solid plans this afternoon?” 

His answer came tinged with a rueful laugh. “None whatsoever.”

“Then how about a tour?”

“Sounds entertaining.”

“Great. We’ll run lunch over to Nat real quick, and you can say hi to her, too.” 

Takahashi rang a small bell, then slid a fresh, hot bowl of noodles across the countertop. Danse muttered a slightly awkward thanks and carefully picked up the bowl. 

“I actually met your sister yesterday,” he said as they walked. “I purchased a paper and she gave me directions to the inn.” 

“Hey, thanks for the business.” Piper grinned. “Quite the little papergirl, isn’t she?” 

“She’s a persuasive saleswoman.” Danse chuckled. “Though she seems to believe I have some sinister plans for you.” 

“Well,” Piper threw him a wink. “Can’t say I’d mind if you did.” 

He immediately fumbled the bowl into the ground. 

* * *

Out in front of Publick Occurrences, Nat’s milk crate sat empty in the street. The papergirl herself paced back and forth by the office door, looking as grim and harried as was possible for an 11-year-old to look. 

When she spotted her sister approaching, she jumped and rushed to her. “Piper! There you are!”

“Hey kiddo! Brought you some lunch.” Piper held out the bowl of replacement noodles. “Didn’t burn the place down, I see.”

All the color rushed from Nat’s face. “It wasn’t my fault.” 

“What wasn’t?” 

“I didn’t mean to, Piper, I swear--” 

“Didn’t mean to-” Piper went absolutely rigid. “What happened? Are you hurt?” 

“I’m fine. But when I turned on the press--” 

“Nat.” Piper groaned. “What’s Rule #2?” 

“‘Nobody ever touches the press,’” Nat recited irritably. “But--”

“‘Not even Nat.’” 

“‘Not even Nat,’ but Piper-” 

“I’ve told you a thousand times not to mess with it when I’m not home.” Piper set a hand on her hip. “It’s a dangerous, delicate machine and I don’t want you or it getting hurt.” 

“Well, too late?” Nat opened the office door, and a plume of pale smoke belched out from within the building.

“Oh my God! Holy shit!” Somehow without spilling a drop, Piper thrust the bowl into Danse’s hands and bolted into the office, leaving him standing there agape beside the child. 

Nat stared at him. He stared at her. She narrowed her eyes.

Before he could say anything else or excuse himself to go aid her, Piper emerged from inside, coughing and fanning out smoke with a folded newspaper. Her hands, face, and coat sported new droplets of splattered black ink.

“Well,” she muttered. “Well that’s just-- shoddy pre-War engineering, for you.” 

“Is everything all right?” asked Danse. 

“Oh yeah, no problem. It looks way worse than it is.” Piper sounded like she was trying to reassure herself more than him. “Just a small, localized fire on the press.”

“It was the motor,” Nat clarified. “When I turned it on there were sparks and then the smoke started, and…”

“Damn it.” Piper sighed. “Of course it’s the damn motor…” 

“I’m really sorry, Piper.” Nat’s voice took on the very slightest of trembles. “I was just trying to clear out the jam again.” 

“It’s not your fault. The stupid thing’s been on its last legs for weeks now.” Piper cracked a half-sincere smile. “Look on the bright side, though. No more sitting on the floor holding the power cables together! You hated that part.” 

Nat did not seem assured by the so-called bright side. “What are we going to print the paper with?”

“We’ve always got the manual one. That old sucker can do… one, maybe two copies an hour, easy.” 

“Piper…” 

“I’ll take care of it, Nat. ” Piper let out a heavy sigh. “I’ve got it all under control. You don’t need to worry.”

“Of course I’m going to worry,” Nat retorted. “I just finished the books for this month. We’re down 350 caps from normal. If we don’t start cranking out papers, we’re fu-” 

“Natalie Wright, language!” Piper interrupted. “Just leave it to me, okay? And eat your noodles before they get cold.” 

Nat eyed Danse once more, then folded her arms defiantly. “Rule #1, Piper.” 

“What are you-” All of a sudden, Piper seemed to remember Danse’s existence. She all but smacked herself in the forehead. “Oh, Jesus. I’m so sorry. I promise, I didn’t forget you--” 

“I understand. It seems you’re having a crisis,” Danse said gently. “What’s rule #1?” 

“‘Never trust, go with, or take anything from a stranger.’” Nat looked significantly from Danse to the bowl of noodles in his hand. “‘Unless Piper says so.’” 

“Well, good news, he’s not a stranger. This is D- um. Paladin Danse.” Piper’s stumble was brief, but conspicuous. “He’s a… friend.”

“Wait.” Nat raised her eyebrows. “ _This_ is Paladin Danse?”

“ _Yes_ ,” said Piper through gritted teeth. “It _is_.” 

“Ohhh.” Nat’s lips curled into a knowing smile. 

It took every ounce of soldierly calm to keep his sudden alarm out of his voice. “Pleasure to meet you officially, Nat.” 

“Oh, you _too_ , Mister Paladin.” Nat stood tall and shook his hand, giving him a look somewhere between impressed and discerning. “Piper told me about your trip to Rogersbrook.”

“Yes, I was pleased to have her along for the mission,” said Danse. “She was excellent company.” 

“Oh, _she_ thought so too.”

“Nat…” Piper’s voice rose. 

“She said you were… what was the word you used, Piper? A ‘total hunk?’”

“ _Nat_!”

Danse’s eyes widened substantially. 

“What?” Nat smiled innocently. “That’s what you _said_. And you turned this weird shade of pink-” 

“Ha ha ha… oh, man, kids! Aren’t they precocious at this age?” Piper took the noodles from Danse, scuffed Nat lightly upside the head, then shoved the bowl into her hands. “Less talking, more eating, brat.” 

Nat relented and tucked into the noodles, smiling disconcertingly at Danse as she slurped a bite off of her chopsticks.

Meanwhile, for his own sake, he changed the subject. “It’s unfortunate to hear about your press malfunctioning. I hope the fire didn’t damage anything in your home.”

“Ah… nah, it really wasn’t a fire so much as a little…” Piper made some small popping motions with her hands. “I think the spray of ink was a little _excessive_. Talk about insult to injury.”

“Is there anything I can help with?” 

“No, don’t worry about it. You’re on vacation,” she said. “Though I think I’m gonna have to take a raincheck on that tour while I clean up. I’m really sorry. But I’ll catch up with you tomorrow, I promise.” 

“Of course,” said Danse. “What will you do about your press?” 

“I’ve got everything under control,” said Piper. “It’ll be fine.” 

“We just need to get it fixed, right?” asked Nat. “Did you and Ted get the parts?”

“I…” Piper’s voice died mid-sentence. A crease etched ever-so-slightly on her brow.. “We’ll talk about it later, okay?” 

It suddenly clicked. That was why Piper was scouting the Boston Bugle building-- parts for her printing press. No wonder she was so (excusing the pun) pressed for time to acquire them. Now the situation had become even more dire, as her family’s livelihood just literally went up in smoke.

Well. This could not stand. 

“Do you know precisely which parts you need?” he asked. 

“I mean--” Piper let out a tremendous sigh, rubbing her forehead beneath her cap. “I know how it all fits together, but I’m not really a mechanic. For years, I’ve just been taking spares and swapping them out one-to-one.” 

“And you’re certain these spares are at the Boston Bugle?” 

“Tons of ‘em. I’ve been there half a dozen times before. I’d go on my own, but I prefer to keep the potentially fatal solo adventuring to a minimum.” She sighed. “Besides, those old things are too heavy for one person to lug a lot of them back here.”

“It sounds like you’re in need of a trusted gun and a strong back,” said Danse.

Piper raised an eyebrow. “Is... that an offer?”

“If you think I fit the bill.” 

“Are you kidding? I’m snatching crappy pre-War tech out of a trashed building, how could I do better than the Brotherhood?”

“Oh, very funny.” His reply was deadpan, but he couldn’t help a smile. 

Piper grinned, pleased with herself. “Seriously, though-- are you sure it’s okay? I don’t want anybody to get court-martialed.”

“Don’t be absurd. Civilians can’t be court-martialed.” 

“Okay, but like--” She frowned. “You’re on leave. You’re supposed to be getting some downtime, not putting yourself out for my dumb problems.”

_Indeed_ , a stern voice in his head reminded him. _You are under orders to accomplish rest and relaxation, soldier, and that does not include dangerous expeditions with a civilian._

But nobody had _ordered_ that much, had they? Nobody told him he couldn’t seek whatever endeavors he pleased this week. It wasn’t a difficult task. The risk was minimal. Piper was a capable partner. It was a simple mission on well-tread ground, and even without power armor Danse could do a ruin dive in his sleep.

_And if you’re wrong and end up injured, you can look forward to explaining that to Elder Maxson. Or worse--_ even more leave _._

“Believe me,” he said, “an excursion with you is more worthwhile than anything I’d be doing otherwise.” Drinking? Staring at the wall? Wishing he was back on The Prydwen? “If I can be of service, I’d be pleased to accompany you.” 

“Absolutely. You’ll be perfect.” 

“With the disclaimer that I’m without my power armor. Though I don’t foresee needing it for a simple retrieval.” Danse folded his arms and lifted his chin proudly. “Not to boast, but I was quite the scavver in my younger days.”

“Well, didn’t I just hit the jackpot?” Piper looked as though a great weight had been lifted off her shoulders, her smile easy and calm. “Thank you, Danse. This is-- I don’t know how to thank you for this.” 

“No thanks necessary,” he said. “We made a good team before, and you put yourself out a great deal to help me. I’d like to return the favor.”

“Oh, come on. I figured we were even after you saved my life.” 

“Nonsense. That was my duty.” He nodded. “This is my pleasure.” 

“ _Hoh--_ ” She brought her palm up to her cheek, cupping it as though attempting to hide the colors she was turning. It did not work.

(Damn his total lack of experience. A more confident man would know how to follow that up, how to express what else he was thinking. That he liked her blush. Was proud of causing it. Wanted to make another sly joke about “interviews.”

God, how did people navigate these kinds of situations every day when even this much had him utterly drowning in self-doubt?) 

A soft hum shattered the moment. He turned his head to see Nat, watching them with wide-eyed interest, smiling as she chewed. “See, Piper? _That_ shade of pink.”

“Oookay,” said Piper. “If you’ll excuse me, Danse, I’ve got to open some windows, sweep the floor, and commit sororicide.”

Nat cackled and turned on a dime, rushing into the office. 

Danse’s shade, meanwhile, was far closer to crimson. “I’ll, ah, I’ll see you tomorrow. What time?” 

“Ahh…” Piper paused in the doorway. “Hhhhow about 8? I’ll make some breakfast.”

“Affirmative.” He barely resisted the urge to salute. “Best of luck with the press. And the murder.” 

“Yeeeap,” Piper squeaked, and beat a hasty retreat. The office door slammed shut behind her. 

Danse let out the heavy breath he’d been holding, and realized he was still smiling. That optimistic feeling that morning had borne out after all. And now it seemed to be stretching, reaching out to brighten the prospect of the whole rest of the week. 

Now if only he could figure out what the hell he was doing. 

* * *

Danse sat at the end of the bar in the Dugout Inn, alternating between nursing his beer and crunching on the smothered fried tatos he’d ordered for dinner. It was later in the evening and the lounge was far quieter than the night before.

A young man in a red and white sport jacket was engaged in a spirited discussion with the bartender. Rather, it seemed he was on the receiving end of one.

“Loser talk, Travis,” said the bartender in his Slavic accent. “That is what we call loser talk.” 

“Yeah, but Vadim, it’s… it isn’t…” That anxious, breathless whine was unmistakably familiar. “It isn’t that easy.” 

“It is that easy! How you think people have been doing for all of human history?” Vadim set a glass bottle on the countertop and popped out the cork. “How is she supposed to know you have eyes on her, eh? What is your plan?”

“My plan…” Travis hesitated. “Well, my… my plan was to just. Hope things happen to… happen.” 

“Happen to happen.” 

“Y-you know. Just… if it just so happens things… naturally fall into place? Like maybe I’d see some kind of sign, or…” 

“Sign? You make your own sign!” Vadim boomed. “You cannot stand at the wall like a flower and hope she reads your mind. You must take action!”

“Oh, oh yes. That’s me all right... Travis Miles... Man of action...” 

“Not with an attitude like that, you’re not.” Vadim poured the suspect amber liquor into a row of shot glasses. “You must have confidence.” 

“But I don’t?”

“Then you pretend as hard as you can.”

_You fake it ‘til you make it,_ Danse mentally filled in. He couldn’t help a very slight internal laugh. How many times had he heard Cutler echo that advice? Simple, yes, dubious, absolutely, but Cutler’s “life motto” had certainly gotten both of them through many scrapes over the years.

“Think about it this way, _tovarisch_. You there!” 

It took Danse a moment to realize he was being addressed. He looked at the bartender, bewildered. “Me?” 

“Yes! Look at him, Travis!” Vadim motioned to Danse with a hand. “You know what this man has that you do not?”

“Uh…” Travis looked similarly bewildered as he met Danse’s gaze. “Literally everything?” 

“No, no, no.” Vadim set a shot in front of Travis, then gestured at Danse like he was a display model in a General Atomics boutique. “I mean… Yes, he is tall. Yes, he has big arms and strapping shoulders. Yes, he could snap a brahmin over his knee. But none of that is important!”

Now Vadim had both Travis and Danse watching him, utterly mystified.

“He does not hide in his room. He does not cower in the corner. He sits at the bar, as if to say- ‘I am here! Look at me!’” 

“Actually, the corner table was occupied when I-” Danse corrected, but Vadim would not hear it. 

“So it is with everything! You do not cower and hide yourself, like there is something to be ashamed of. You stand up straight. You walk tall. You act boldly. Am I right?” 

Danse blinked in startled horror. He and Travis exchanged similar glances. 

“Now tell me, _bratan_ , tell Travis. Say this is you. You see girl you like. Or boy, I should say, I make no assumptions-- what do you do?” 

“I…” This felt very much like being called upon to answer questions in basic. “Fake it ‘til I make it.” 

“Yes!” Vadim cheered. “And how do you do that?” 

“I… stand up straight. And walk tall. And act boldly?”

“Yes, yes! That’s right!” Vadim appeared not to care that Danse desperately echoed his own words back at him. “Faint heart never wins the woman, or however it goes. You don’t wait for her to _guess_. You give her compliments. You go for the hand-- or the kiss, if you’re really nailing it. But whatever you do, you act confident. You put yourself out there. Your feelings are there for her to see!” 

“But what if…” Travis whimpered. “What if she laughs? What if she makes fun of me?” 

“Then you not waste another breath on her!” Vadim slapped him on the shoulder. “Better to find out it’s dynamite than burn torch forever and… and… sounds better in Russian.. Anyway-- You win some, you lose some. You never find out if you don’t try!”” 

The bartender plunked another shotglass in front of Danse. “Life is short and dangerous. We don’t waste it sitting around crying in our moonshine about what-if and maybe.” Then he lifted a third shot for himself. “Here, comrades, on the house. You there, big guy, give us a toast.”

“To…” Danse bit down a surge of panic. “Fake it ‘til you make it?”

“ _Za uspekh_!” shouted Vadim. 

“Y-yeah…” Travis murmured. “Zoospiak or… or however you say it…” 

The amber liquor had the distinct tang of mutfruit and Abraxo cleaner on the back end. It burned all the way down, like swallowing a hot fusion core. The second shot was worse. The third made his eyes water and his head ache like somebody drop-kicked the inside of his skull. 

But for the rest of the night, even as his head spun, even as he staggered back to his room, passed out on the bed and fell into liminal sleep, Vadim and Cutler’s jovial voices both echoed through his thoughts.


End file.
